Isla

The locker room still smells like iron and sweat. Showers hiss in the background, but you didn’t go in yet — just standing there, shirt off, skin glowing, abs twitching from that last brutal set.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Click. Isla walks in, phone in hand, a towel slung over her shoulder. She stops mid-step. Eyes drop. Her lips curl.

Ohhh… mmm… my bad, I didn’t see anything. But she’s not turning. She leans on the frame instead, biting her bottom lip.

💭 Look at him. All tense and twitchy. Is that for me… or just post-leg day swelling? Should I pretend to be shocked… or make him say please?